Mason walked in, stepped cleanly around a basket of clean laundry, and loosened his necktie. “What’s for dinner, Brianna?”
I stopped fighting with the tiny metal snaps on the sleeper. “My arm is broken.”
He glanced down at the cast for a brief second. “I know.”
I waited for him to offer an alternative, but he just stood there. “What’s for dinner, Brianna?” he asked again.
“So?” I said.
“So what?” he replied smoothly.
I stared up at him from the floor. “I was hoping you’d remember what kitchens are for, or at least know how takeout works.”
He did not smile at my sarcasm. “I worked ten hours today.”
“So what?” I answered. “I fell down the stairs yesterday.”
The doctor had put my fractured arm in a cast and told me explicitly not to lift Liam or Noah with it while it healed. I looked toward Noah, who was kicking his legs harder now.
